I Married My Ex's Uncle for Revenge

Nikolai Powell’s hand whipped through the air and landed a stinging slap across Anika Knight’s face.

Pain exploded through her skull, a thin trickle of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth.

Her fists clenched until her knuckles ached, and she lifted her chin with defiant fire, her beautiful eyes locked onto his.

“I told you not to take anything from your sister. Are my words nothing to you? After all these years of putting a roof over your head, this is the thanks we get?” Nikolai’s hand was still raised, ready to strike again.

Anika didn’t flinch. She tilted her head back, a bold, taunting move. “I took something from her?” A sneer twisted her expression as she gestured toward the smashed laptop on the floor. “Lorelai used my computer without asking, commandeered my account to shill products, and went live. Who the hell gave her the right?”

Nikolai trembled with fury as Rowan Mendez guided him to a chair. “After all these years we’ve supported you, and she’s your sister—plus she actually helps out, promoting our family’s products, earning us some real money. Meanwhile, you’ve got millions of followers and all you do is post faceless short videos, never once lifting a finger for this family.”

Oh, really?

So now it was her fault, right?

A bitter laugh escaped Anika’s lips. Whatever hope she’d ever had for this family had died a long time ago. If it weren’t for her birth mother, Myra Knight, forcing her into the Powell household to give her a legitimate name and spare her from ridicule, she would have been out of here ages ago.

Her gaze turned ice-cold. “Fine. If you think I’m exploiting this family, then from this moment on, I’m done with you all.”

Resolute, Anika spun on her heel and walked away without a second glance. Nikolai didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he shouted after her, jabbing a finger toward the door, “Go! And don’t you dare come crawling back begging for help!”

Rowan felt a twinge of unease. If Anika really left, how was Lorelai supposed to keep using her account for live streams?

Anika’s account was a massive hit, boasting over eighty million followers. She never showed her face or took sponsorship deals, dedicating herself purely to voice acting for TV series, animations, and skits. Even when she rarely went live, it was only to share insights about the craft.

Her mesmerizing voice and professional training had shot her to overnight fame, flooding her with offers for live-streaming and endorsements—all of which she turned down flat. Voice acting was her passion, and she was determined to share her gift without selling out.

Publicly, Anika had made it clear she’d never do commercial deals, and that standoffish attitude only made her fans love her more. But Lorelai’s little stunt had completely wrecked Anika’s carefully crafted image of someone above fame and fortune.

“It’s freezing out there, middle of winter. If something happens to her, how are we gonna explain it to her mother?” Rowan fretted.

Nikolai remained stone-faced. “Explain what? She walked out. I didn’t kick her to the curb. You really think she can survive on her own with just that voice thing? She’ll come dragging back in a few days.”

Rowan conceded with a nod, recalling how Myra had always dragged Anika back within two days.

Thanksgiving filled the streets with laughter and the smell of turkey, but all Anika felt was a hollow, aching loneliness. She pulled out her phone to call her boyfriend, Evan Murphy. Walking away from her family meant losing the title of the Powell family’s second daughter, but she couldn’t care less—that label had never meant a damn thing to her.

Just then, Evan’s name lit up the screen. She answered, “Evan, where are you? I…” She had been about to spill everything—cutting ties, needing a place to crash—his perfect chance to step up as a real boyfriend.

“Anika, let’s break up.” Evan’s voice cut through the phone, cold and final.

“Break up?”

He was really dumping her on Thanksgiving? Freaking classy.

Before she could demand an explanation, she heard Lorelai’s fake little giggle in the background, dripping with that saccharine charm. So that was it—Evan had already hooked up with her stepsister.

“Fine.” Anika’s voice dripped venom. “I wish you both a long and miserable life together.”

A mocking smile curled her lips. She hung up and immediately dialed her friend, Tessa Grant. “Hey, want to spend Thanksgiving together?”

Tessa’s shock was audible. “Weren’t you supposed to be with my brother?”

“It’s over,” Anika said flatly, as if she were discussing the weather.

Tessa was stunned. “Wait, what? Who broke up with who?”

“Are you coming or not?” Anika pressed, impatience threading into her voice.

Tessa desperately wanted to join her, but she was stuck at her parents’ house for the holiday and couldn’t sneak out. Still, worried sick about her best friend, she booked a swanky hotel suite and promised to be there first thing in the morning.

**

At the hotel, Anika, her vision blurring from the bourbon, leaned heavily against the front desk. "Tessa Grant booked the suite," she slurred.

The desk clerk, flustered by the holiday rush, accidentally coded the keycard for penthouse Suite 6609 instead of standard room 6606.

Staggering off the elevator, Anika swiped the card and pushed the heavy double doors open. The room was bathed in dim amber light, thick with the intoxicating scent of cedarwood, masculine musk, and electric tension.

On the massive king bed lay a man. His tailored Victorian-cuff shirt was torn open to mid-waist, exposing chiseled, gleaming abdominal muscles that heaved with ragged, feverish breaths. His jaw clenched hard, veins corded along his neck—he was clearly battling the agonizing heat of a spiked drink from tonight’s charity gala.

A sleek carbon-fiber wheelchair stood near the bedside.

Before Anika’s tipsy brain could process the situation, the man’s piercing steel-gray eyes snapped open, burning with a raw, predatory hunger. Driven by heartbreak, the haze of alcohol, and an overwhelming magnetic pull, she stumbled toward him.

"Are you... in pain?" she whispered, reaching out.

His large, calloused hand shot out, locking around her wrist with iron strength. In one fluid, powerful pull, he yanked her down onto the mattress beneath him. His scorching breath brushed her lips, dark and guttural: "You shouldn't have walked in here..."

Before she could answer, his mouth crushed against hers, completely consuming her in a blazing firestorm.